


Violet Violence

by lachowskii



Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Adult Content, BDSM Concepts, Concept Ideas, Conceptual References, Depression, Gen, Poems, Poetry, Short Stories, Writing, Writing Series, personal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-20
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-06-09 12:52:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 6,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6908068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lachowskii/pseuds/lachowskii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><strong>a mini writing collection;; </strong> Violet may be a person or thing , or mostly a color that is a representation purity, love, faithfulness and strong depictions of goodness. I'm none of these things. I am to become faded, is to gradually faint and disappear. To become weak and beyond thin. Losing freshness, color, brightness, intensity and the advances to start. I enjoy writing of implied references related to me, some in realistic and idealistic events. Not everything piece in here is about the same topic but relative.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. [ The Memory of Loss ]

**Author's Note:**

> Life, symbolic, subliminal series of stories and realism. Poems included. Some bdsm content but nothing graphic.  
> My most personal set of writings from december 2016 to january 2017. The BDSM content are the original drabbles from my popular fanfics sharing the same exact titles and are not graphic. Also, for most of my stories;; the origin and personal drabbles can be found here.
> 
> If you are struggling with abuse, depression, addictions, anxiety and etc. professionals can help you with zero judgement. At least for someone to listen, even if doesn't help. **Since my account is no longer going to be active and this is my final decision as of April 2017. I've given up on writing and sharing content online. Thank you to anyone who has read my fics as well. Thank you it will always be greatly appreciated.**
> 
> [Poetry Collection](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2174355/chapters/4757058) (selective collection)  
>  \- 2003 - 2015  
> [Diphylleia Grayi](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10061603/chapters/22418456) ( the recent/last collection) - March 2017

There's a place. Holding, hugging, relaxing yet raw and bloodless.  
Teasing and wandering hands. Mixed of a melancholy chorus that is drifted above and below.  
The wind is blowing and kissing dark skin while being jilted out of tune and waters sends droplets down that you crave.

It sings the consumption, the subjugation and steel minded absence that you lose. Typically, you'll always lose.  
It's a memory of loss, and instrument of forgiveness, perhaps irony.

Elegance. Aching. Delicate things. Yet the grievance is beyond a memory.  
Having hands, changed for better, turn things to ashes. With a crumbling mind  
and weaving unfinished business through your skin.

Corroding with the sea salts, preserving what you used to be but you're in a life of decay.  
You weep and play the tune, frantic, desperate and alone. Fractured and soundless.  
Eventually you will be soundless.

In the back pretending you're not already headed towards the end trying to conjure a new founded fate.


	2. Vibrations Are Tremors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was so happy this got 5k shares on Ello.co ;;
> 
> This is the original snippet that started the 'Vibration of Tremors' installment of my Trilogy series.

Someone to keep you leveled. To the brink of want, you're so cold and so coy. There's a touch of greatness and unwinnable games. Between the two, something someone else may frown upon. Did you watch with the mischievous glint, hinted at understanding this type of unique taste.

Connections are crystallized into a new language. The tightening of a hand, soft and vulnerable to one's throat. A daily basis of thrill through penetration. Keeping you unrestrained to touch and so immune to love. How the exhilaration keeps you into a course of primal lust.

Late mornings, the sky is a dark mass and a vast of uninhibited sexual interests. Scratch of burning flesh where sheets underneath are never patient. Read each other in the process, turn into the uproar notion, leave in sweat and breathless abandon.

Remember when you etched modern sensuality. Serenity spills so much truth. Fall to your true calling, inherit dominance in the eyes of someone else. Do you fuck, sleep, dream and become wilted to a blue shimmer love in a dull pattern.

Flushed into a plastered view and the feel is rather deep to bare teeth in your own soul. Is it that tasteless in the light when the blindfold and whips become too deep. Considering the consumption. You're just a slut for play, you're just a daddy for kinks. Within your own spark of submission and you're an example to let serendipity present new potentialities.

Options haven't limit any sort of dominance. Do you learn to love it? Is it still delicate? Is it too pretty? To be miserable in the need of control. Would you crush moon flowers on the peak of their glory?

Words between bodies, you lick, you suck, you succumb to shaking hands becoming stronger than ever. Waiting with playfully frowns and forgotten aggression. Are you a pawn of bruised confusion? Are you a man or woman composed of pure pulsing pleasure? Unraveling you from a choke and perhaps taste your exact thoughts.

Keeping each other bounded by tastes and innovative risks. Fulfillment and humiliation will be enough? Gathered together, like scattered winds and mislead from something flowing beyond you when you pressed against fingers to reach your high level of frustration. How deserving are you? How sickly satisfied can one make you?

You're not afraid to ask. On knees, you bend, with words you speak and when the one you trust is inside of you, you turn into a quivering mess. You say thank you, you learn to wait and in an atmosphere of unison, you stay delectable and warm.

You exist to know you have been cursed

This is your only definite entry to true love.

Unfortunately, you will never find it.

You will never feel whole.


	3. Blue Ocean Floor

I'm graced enough to be alive where the cold air is present and crushing my skin. Questioning myself in the distance from the world. Alone, guilty, surviving and realizing how I'm barely functioning. Is it the acceptance that cripples my mind as I end up with the salty rivers traveling down my face now?

I'll smoke myself away, legs shaking and tobacco kissing my lungs. On edge of the dry empty land, forgotten and wishing to be brought back to soil next to dirt and stones. I'm a concentrated mess on some godly aura yet no one knows I'm also a mix of some depressive creature and demons.

Someday I can paint the wall with my thoughts as they float like dust in the wind. Becoming a shred of nothing significant while I feel incredibly small. As emotions appear in my mind like words written on paper.

When is the day I can turn into some theoretical formulation? While an obliterated heart can no longer keep moving on. Soon I can fly away to peace in a form of a tidal wave. There is no answer. Forever lost and on your own.

I'm approaching that time where the days become short and my thoughts are melancholy. In this month the sky will sink under my weight and I can soon be missed and singing softly. Is it still poetry under the sun? Not quite in my reach, floating, falling and wondering when to let go. Write in the stale rain and echoes.

Whispering shaky promises to my sour soul. A soon heartache, distant memory and an underwater lullaby. I like to sit with matchsticks drifting circles behind my emptiness outside with the bare trees. Shivering in a dark grey light.

I assume in our time here, the heavens are falling into two. Through pain and batter rain hitting windows and reminding us that they're here. Even now, in my life, when rain falls it would make me remotely content.

My days are numbered. I stopped writing as much. Words become tired and dreams faded like rain swallowed whole on a dark night. I'm numb but still chasing strangers in my daydreams. I'm falling asleep in public with my eyes open. Chewing gum just to keep my jaw busy. I saw my hand on something sharp, the memory isn't too long ago. Even feeling so foreign it almost killed me.


	4. Crsip of The Night

Tracking memory effortlessly into your flesh. You're the only special kind of oxygen your lungs crave. How can you manage without them and wasting away in fruitless thought that you can have them forever. Forever, a three syllable word that is wasted, melting away on your tongue while people fade and flicker away.

You take notice that people leave without reason.

Despite everything being said under your breath, recited like a prayer and you'll be spending months trying to remember before they touched you. Reminders of them in your pockets, living in your heart without rent, possible penny tips and rattle as you walk through life.

Is your life this clear? Small? The world around you was never as massive as you thought.

How about living a life, like many others, shadows peaking only at every hour to instilled the fear again that no one makes it to end. Is life as clear as your illusions? You may think it's pain or you may think it's senseless. You can pinch nails between your skin and a foreign sunshine may seem like a dream is your reality. You're the only one who can paint the forgotten skim of loneliness.

A foot in the door and so quickly something can snatch you to a place with catastrophe. Peaceful, needlessly gripping and tasteful gatherings. Reminding how self illusion is focused on the drifting oblivion. Conjure up an idea that you willingly lean towards a holy trail.

The transitory state is making it's way. Your memories are used, dreams making it's duty to tremble you and falter your ability to be in life's everlasting journey. Feeling something everyday while knowing it will never exist in your life can be the true illusion.


	5. Untitled

Before you guzzle on sunsets, tongue stained with the juice of pomegranate skies and lethargic poetry,  
clinging like sleep to your skin.Do not memorize each word for your sadness as it grows, for falling in love with words is a disease,  
a waste. For it's not a gift or a given substance that could correlate to why you breathe and/or exit. 

Yet, thank GOD for keeping you whole. Word become like bandages, as you bleed people think what they read is a apart of you being healed.   
Yet, you're a pillar of things they don't believe you have become.   
Finished. Forgotten. Forgiveable.


	6. Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Got 3k shares on ello.co for this ;;

Any advice for the small tainted child whose hair flows effortlessly and smiles as bright like the sun. She doesn't have a mouth of anything rotten or wandering with dangerous entities in her free time. Calm, relaxing with soft lips, pale under the star spangled palms and charming magic.

She had red berries between her teeth, stained enamels and shirts. Cruising down the cool trail and kicking rocks with her feet. The berry skins falling to the ground and so ripe to the touch. A sweet taste of enchantment as she chewed them on her molars.

The sun wasn't out today but the clouds and smell of rain that is near was nice and cool in the forest day. Tree branches singing lullabies, frantic chill and devouring something with hungry teeth and savory gnash.

She's not frighten to be alone out here. Decorated with thrill and time alone as she reaches into distant corners. Her ankles tickle, her smile is wild as she plays with darkness between her ribs. Listening to the rustle of the breeze against her heart.


	7. @ 8:26am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All I remember is I'm the first one who attends class an hour early. So I could be clear in thoughts but this wasn't one of those days. Plus, who would realize I had to quit classes a second time because my physical pain became too much again.

Unfocused  
Darkness  
Beautiful eyes  
Yet unresponsive to touch  
I can hear my own small sounds of discomfort

I wish someone cared   
But the clear visual is more damaged  
Beaten badly inside I am numb  
Accepted my own pain months ago

Dark sky, dusted with stars  
Meanwhile, what I see isn't the true display

A knife is carving  
Imprinting it's ownership  
The voice is mute   
Kindly prefer it that way

Frightened but my eyes closed  
Lingering thoughts with no hope  
All I knew was chaotic lace on bronze skin once  
And droplets of tears flowing

Bodies aren't embraced  
Yet so warm  
Yet so cold and wholeheartedly  
I'm wishing it's over

But I'm told the opposite  
I'm told I'm worth it  
I'm told I need this  
I can't get it any other way  
Except, like this


	8. Paradise Circus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2k shares on ello.co ;;
> 
> I finally posting lost and original snippets into one that started The Trilogy series and inspired me to continue Paradise Circus.

Venture out miles with the dark forces. Lay heads upon thousands of beds until you feel you may be worth than others. While in that midst, strong and hateful. A small molecule is passing, time is wasting and breathing the air where your lungs feel like they may be too small.

Close your eyes. Now, does it become infinitely worse than good?

Let her love, let him love, and let them both intertwine to paint your collarbones and possibly your mind. Cigarette buds in the ashtray while you forgot what you needed to initiate. Who would care to know before you notice something so small. Before the fingers were in your mouth as your rivers flowed down your cheeks.

A dark form of an entirely different person. Freed or condemned? Willing? Admirable? These tendons in your bounded arms demands peace within withdrawal. Embrace you. Mistreat you. Mislead you. Only if you ask. Only if you plead.

Aching promises when thumbs trace on your lips and you bite and suck for pleasure. Begging is gracious and carelessness has poured into a mess of confusion and unanswered questions. You're no longer the savior to be anyone's master or anyone's slave forever. You are not made for anything but the taste for a crave where the thread becomes undone.

You do know this is more than sex shop toys and borrowed phrases. In all ignorance, you know this dynamic oozes like blood from a wound. No rules can keep it in and no stitches can stop the flow. Consummation passes through you and glows heavenly.

You're now a fallen factor that simply isn’t the same and a far crave for an almost dangerous lust.


	9. Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel by The Weeknd , totally inspired me to write this. It's the most reflective thing about myself. Me writing directly to myself.

Lost in the gutter of time. Why aren't I like everyone else? What happened to smiling and letting the sun bring shades of bright yellow off the walls and the moon glares grey. Sorry, the imbalance is still here in my brain with years and years of trying to see through me.

Have you noticed I stopped trying? Desensitized to your average, normal, typical and predictable feeling. Setting upon emotions I can't reach out and grab like tiny insects begging to take a close crawl inside my mind. I wanted to drift in the tide with you and I never wished to wreck your happiness.

You're used to smiling and being chased within nature's secret and going off with those tricky stones getting caught between your toes. Your flowing black to light brownish strands, drifting and hoping to get lost all alone and find your way back to the normality. Standing on a breeze to kiss your face until the sun goes down.

Now their are tears and intoxicating mixture of unsettling goods in bottles you can obtain. Some of them don't even give you a choice. Every way to live your life the voices say this is how you can live your life. On the road with painful memories and an empty future when you land to any destination your offerings become grander and personally demanding.

The most faintest memories within emptiness, lies to the point that I can never fully remember who you once were. The reflection I see is no person with halos, except the blushing pink halos on skin and veins swimming in it's own pain. Only beautiful to be dead in the eyes, shivering and screaming. How much will you hurt until you recant the truth and for once say it's never going to continue. These months are slower, aching and I'm always preparing for things that may not even happen. That's what pain does now and I can still feel the ghostly presence of when you once beamed.

Now you're not a person and not even a personality.

I'm not sour,  
or angry,  
or cold,   
or imbalanced,   
just tired of fighting battles I know I have already lost. Yet, I'm still all these things.

It's crushing, how you were once an angel and I've ruined you. The life I once had is never returning and there's no way to get those graceful wings again.


	10. Shameless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The original version os Shameless fic that inspired the one shot I posted ;;

Does your trust allow you to follow orders so easily? Can you watch from afar and without hesitation keep your composure? You’re someone's precious possession. You'e replenished with kindness with a natural state and being reveled to dismantle requests.

I was once told how fascinating being choked can be when you want it, when your dominant does it correctly. This woman looked at me with lust in her eyes telling me even in the open areas she was much far gone to go back to being regular. She told me the behavior is bad and the talk is explicit. When I figured a true dominates presence can ruin you with one look I got more than I asked for.

Do you know what true BDSM consummation is like? From people who love this willingly. Knowing you’re incapable of sustaining urges and you know when a slap in the face leaves you dripping. The scent of yourself is conquering you, your own soul and the one you give the term 'master' to is blindfolding you now. Bodies speak loudly on their own not to be shadows of muteness. Within every detail shows and illustrates how insatiable you truly can be.

You can't underestimate this obsession when you never been there before. Fervent, ravenous, unstoppable, and needy. Lusciously burning and feasting on darkness. The way you might get hit or choked just creates the possibilities someone else can't truly feel.

For one would know about consumption lying in every crevice battling the bending body in ecstasy. Have you been there before, too many times to count? The option that is a need for sex became greedy, consuming, frustrating and constantly mysterious. In all intensity it's so strong about what who you truly are and how to feed off this dynamic. When it gets very late at night , you’re up alone with the monsters of some ravenous hell. A stranger’s essence, grabbing and wanting to be hit again and again like driftwood at sea.

That person could be you. That person could be me. Pore over pore, kinks have been fed and you’re sickly satisfied. You start to notice even the sound of his belt coming off instantly could make you weak. I'm sure you never found


	11. 160906

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The title of this little drabble is the date but in Korean version. 
> 
> 2016, September 6

Do you mind, that I've wanted it to end before now. Do you mind, that I've done things I can never come back from. Do you mind, the warmness has turned bitter and cold leaving us in a withering mantra. While the darkness isn't the only thing that engulfs you once you close your eyes. I am not consoling on a sure promise once the heart is collapsing the eyes can no longer blink. It's the proactive mindful notion of how I'm striking each cigarette, playing a song of relative sources and fucking myself up on end to not think about an ending.

Yes, the attraction of oneself and late night endeavors haven't been doing a good job meanwhile the pills sour in the stomach lining and create bodily chaos mixed with what is already happening each day.

So let's wonder, if I can sit with and be present in a better moment. Sweet berries and sticky fingers. The feeling of music in eardrums at a high level. The nuzzle of a furry friend who can give unconditional love. The words that show acknowledgement and being heard without the judgment.

Yet, you know the idealization behind every content moment is a hurtful urge that is thickening my air. Behind every smile is a signal response that the dark cloud is still raining endless downpour. If I ride too fast in a wake of almost crashing I never yelled, screamed or said any peace before my time might have been up.

So I guess now you noticed for the one who is depressed is not in fear of death.


	12. outcry;;

doctors have no remedies to heal  
i found the cure for this illusion  
and with good patience  
in time it can only kill

caught up in an empty space  
nobody here to stay  
falling just a little  
while it's just me in the middle

guess between me and a dark mind  
never will see eye to eye  
sharing every part of me inside  
can't stay away long enough to hide

yet everyone who comes close  
never seem to stay  
i never had my arms wide  
so i'm still far away  
drifted from the average  
and still what do i do?

so can we fuck although my body can barely move  
we'll meet in the middle  
with just the two  
and sorry about my tears while we're half way through  
but in reality it's the certain part of my mental illness i cannot diffuse

guess i destruct myself into the common place  
but in the present it's a moment to feel alive  
all in vain it's keeping me on a simple plan  
but i've been told what's sanity if you're already insane

constantly killing pain  
until there are no pills left  
emptiness won't leave  
and filled up with too much stress

two more diagnosis and i'm about to lose my mind  
can't see to to function if i blow my brain this time


	13. Untitled 2.0

Isolation is bloody fun isn't it. Major depression is fun too. Also when six months gone by and doctors fail to find out why the persistent pain keeps coming back. My movement is slower, I can barely eat and the only response is "you're too young for this" and I'm usually seconds from wanting to choke someone. I can't say that I'm cursed because it hurts too many people but now I have no one so I can say it freely. It's so unreal, for someone to have a life like mine and also be this sick. Constantly. I have self hatred to the point where I wish I did more in what little free time I had. Something is happening, with persistent pain and numbness. I can't lie down because of pain that's stopping me from doing so, I can't eat but barely one meal a day and doctors don't seem to move quickly. I've dealt with this for six months and no end result but more than all of my life always having something go wrong. I feel like I'm always failing myself but atleast the past four years of sickness on top of sickness how does one ever become to feel normal. My eyes barely open, I don't even open my laptop but compulsively feel the need to write this. At-least if someone finds it, it's not like I was out of my head. I stay with people who don't think I exist and one of them seem to be extremely unhappy while the other makes my day a living hell. On top of /all/ my bullshit that I could put to music, I'm dreadfully in pain with nothing helping and each day I feel like I'm preparing myself for it all to get worse. The longer I have to wait with no solution the more sicker I feel. I keep thinking my past were true testimonies but another year, another curse, another time I'm endlessly trying to rise up and my body pulls me back down. How can I be "healthy" when everything is against me and I push everyone away because no one understands. I mean they genuinely don't. It's not like me handling all of this alone now isn't peaceful. It's so peaceful, it's almost scary. Sadly, for the past straight six months, this peace has created an emptiness I can't even attempt to scream. Depressive? Extremely but whatever outcome comes about it's not like I'm stopping it. I've been trying my hardest and that's all I wanted to say. I been trying my best. I tried my best.

Yes, this sounds confessional.


	14. The Constant Current

Another episode   
Tantalizing with every need given  
Bent over pain and leading aggression   
I've said it louder and louder   
I can no longer make anyone listen

I've tried to escape my destruction  
And with every crying plea  
I'm haunted once again  
Because the pills don't help  
So I'm solid to deal with pain   
So nothing is masked   
And it's sad deep down I'm a user  
My own abuser

Everyday and night luxury  
Isn't making the time go by faster  
The sex can't last much longer   
I'm stopping pain in the moment   
And the next second feeling sour

I'm being deteriorated from the inside  
But my decisions make it no better  
I'm more possessive writhing in the madness   
I tell you not to fall for me or fall for this  
Such a warning, such a rage   
And unexpected tastes with a twist

You wouldn't understand   
Can't kiss him or her without the unwanted  
I'm haunted once again  
I can't truly deny my own wishes   
Asking for repentance  
Not anyone's acceptance

I just can't touch you correctly  
Can't talk to anyone directly  
My isolation is pain striking violence  
On my mind and sadness   
I always need something more   
Yet no one knows what I'm here for

Yet no one knows I'm masking things that's killing me  
Inner demons wont let me relax   
I'm not complaining   
Nor explaining   
The doctor gave me more things to swallow  
And with high hopes   
Death is sure to follow


	15. [ 2:23am and I know.... ]

Sorry to sound abusive  
Chemicals in both of our brains  
Intrusive and tons of illusions

Do I still got you?  
Can I still have you....

Intricate and setting the tone  
I'm alone but your company,  
Has me in the right zone  
Look at me.....  
Who's going to touch you like me?  
I've added you to my chain  
Of constant pain  
Sadly it's what you've became

You can hate me  
But can't you see I hate myself  
But you could never truly leave   
Since I offer something can't be compared

I'm shameless and always here   
I'm shameless and show no fear


	16. myself

quit smoking in a day at the drop of a hat  
i terrified her.  
i asked her why.

she said:  
because. a person that   
can quit smoking in a day,  
can leave behind anything  
and not look back.

what she meant was,  
i could leave behind  
anyone.

the thing, she's observing the ultimate truth about myself.   
people are not tangible to me. i can leave you without a care.


	17. End.

I want to be a new light. Someday as I try to get closer to the spirit that is holy within me.   
You wouldn't think I had a belief with the things I say, the things I do and the things I write.  
You wouldn't think I had a belief since it's not something I scream out loud to everyone.  
You wouldn't think I had a belief because you just wouldn't think that way about me. 

No one thinks a certain way about me.  
I rarely have ever came across anyone who even shared the same passions as I.  
Sometimes I feel overly passionate stuck with the dreary and grime.   
With the dark and mysterious.

You know the color black is my favorite because it can be added to anything.  
It's one of a kind, in it's own and i's own shade.  
I'm my own shade.   
I can't nor ever will apologize about who I became but I want a change. 

I'm typing this, the whole right side of my body is in pain. Constantly.  
My recent diagnosis hasn't been settled so I'm hoping and praying.   
Praying that the prayers will heal me more than medicine.  
I'm not that comfortable with the rush of meds anymore.   
Medicine does so much to the organs than a good thing for the brain.  
What a shame. I was so close once to being addicted and now I can't stand it.

Thank my spirit, for telling me to stop my evil and wicked ways.   
It's becoming unlikely I'm sending myself to a hellish placed faster than good.   
Faster and quicker than I should be when I'm not even half way to thirty. 

I'm mellowed with my mind. The fact is I have feelings.   
The fact is I have favorite things.  
Favorite colors, shows, food, music and the fact is I am more than what I appear to you but I do not fault you or anyone else.  
For what YOU cannot see past my darkness is not MY fault at all. It's yours.

I blame YOU,  
for thinking I'm not good enough because I never talk about my ways of life.  
I speak about the people I see, that did me wrong but I never faulted myself for that I am no good.   
That the night is melancholy and I'm wired.  
For the approaching time days become short and thoughts in the November sky sinks in.   
Have you read my poetic insights to see I am looking so far beyond that what you see carelessly.

My name is Marie.   
I'm a weight of mental illness, grief, poetry in the sun and darkness.  
Not missing anyone.   
Singing softly in the wind if it's possible.   
Praying that I don't become lost in my depression because I never once /believed/ that was GOD's plan.   
I am floating, reaching, hiding.   
I am stale in echos, in the midst of bondage and in the midst of someone who I am not.   
I'm whispering sadness in the alone time and shaking promises.   
I'm not an emotional longing heartache but I am a distant memory.  
Since no one really ever cared about my passions.  
I write in the rain until every part of me grows back into the blissful underwater lullaby.   
Matchstick circles in my head and morning facades.   
I leave a house of two people inside of it but it's so empty of unhappiness.   
I'm empty but I want to get away from this shivering grey.   
I been trying to end my bodily form countless times but I guess that's not in my plan.   
My light is somewhere better than here.   
Stronger than here.  
Faithful than here.  
Powerful than here.   
I know it is.  
I finally now know,  
that it is.


	18. duloxetine

**11/27/16**   
**3:30pm**

yes, i have to take cymbalta for medication  
although i've not taken it consistently  
if people knew i never believed chemicals help for the mentally ill  
it's an opinion, a slight fact and my choice  
we do have choices

yet, an individual choice  
a tiredness contemplating,  
and demanding,  
and struggling,  
for almost years and years  
and I've waited for this   
just to agree so doctors can be quiet  
so my mind could rest

this was not about someone's opinion, driving me to think pill actually help  
they just alter  
but isn't it still enough if i decided to do this  
to be open with family  
but no, nothing is enough 

**me:** "yes, i started taking some of the cymbalta"  
 **dad:** "well, you seemed happy on thanksgiving" 

.........see


	19. Begin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a checkpoint. Here it starts in 2017 and the rest of what you will read after this chapter.

Can you make peace with both the preacher and professor? Run wild and do nothing. Collecting your honey and leave bodies sticky in the evening. Allow sweetness to pour, runneth over and substances within each area and crevice to make a mark and a point. To drive a surface to the deep end and come undone. Elevated far, no emotion and always free. The one you envy, they envy, she envy and holding odious compulsions to the late night moon. Where the glares inscribed and touched to view. Starting on thrones in tones and in collars. A life to survive, a choice, a stepping stone and once you're six feet under it's already done.

A rose and lonely revolver. Where honey drips, it stays. Until the sour bloom of tastes become a new beginning. Over and over again, times a thousand, times ten, running a body to the limitless adventure. Thriving fumes and chemicals to coil inside to never be counted on but counted for. Lighting scares, grabbing them by their throat, grabbing their fear and vitality. Trusting your own conscious to never fail. To never alter. You can still see the drunk tongue speaking sober meanwhile think this time is precious. You can see the overly eaten and the overly controlled, spouting, spitting and hastly bringing you down. Your reflection can't be anew since the surroundings never change.

It's starting to be unmoving and the honey drips slowly. It's never going to stop even if you are. The extremities, the complex eye in an out of reach state. Mindless and grabbing, before each touch it is subtly disintegrating in these ashes that can return to dust. Engulfed by life and mistakes. Yet, taking it's chances to tell you these structures can spread between you, in you, out of you, taste you and kill you. Disciplined and sleep forever until it's solved. Getting older, falling to the prey in the constant current. Enjoy the different seasons only if it doesn't change your mental state. Of no control stabilizing oneself.

I say with earnest depreciation, you haven't experienced the costs. You haven't lost the coins spent on endless treasures. You can't fathom a dream and mistake all in one day. You just may have it more than I, her, him and them. Dismantle the difference, the abstract and the thoughts. Take the intel and smear it on foreheads and between you, inside you, until it kills you. The darkside and the bright side aren't in cohesion nor an illusion. Paralyzed to the checkerboard pattern blinding your eyes and curling our mind. I' say somewhere in someone's truth, you can't assume where you do not know. Who you cannot see. Who you cannot show.

And just as it begins, to fight and prove. You may win, you may lose.


	20. Grace

I guess where you feel unhappy.  
Where you feel no good things are present.  
It seems hard to find it.  
Look for it,  
and believe it.

Grace.

I believe it's in all of us yet I never feel this thoughts and emotions genuinely. Which is my mental illness struggle! Which is my struggle to find a course of true feel. I never tried finding it but I believe it's there. I want more grace, to enter my life. Rather than the atrocity of dismantling anger, rage or sadness. Although, this is out of my control. So it feels. Could I slip out of the great and tightening view to treat goodness? Goodness that's out of the distant and out fo human intelligence since I can never find it in people.

Grace.

I see it in when a dog smiles. I see it in the beauty of rain falling and creating earthly smells against my rise in the morning or my eyes closing at dark. I find it the only thing that doesn't create the anxiousness in my mind but allows me to feel this is only good and only a beautiful gift. They say grace is in children smiles and it's true. Christ has this moment to watch me battle myself daily, and I would stop praying out of zero patience but there are two of the smallest reminding me goodness. Not happiness.

Grace, may just be the softness in the gift of music. It's the devil's ministry but also where the beautiful angels whisk in and shine on us more than the sun could. Michael Jackson passed away I could feel the sadness of the earth weeping, because of the wonderful impact he held on to us. Someone like me who knows every song but been a fan since inside my mom's belly. I loved his grace, even the one he showed, smiling, uplifting music and telling people to keep the faith. He had an essence, all too human and too giving. All of natural love he spread even the ones who could do nothing but hate. I think in all his attempts to be possible in a world dehumanizing his presence, he had grace to showcase he was not impossble.

Grace, may still hold it's bargain. Majestically as I have slept endlessly hearing George Michael gifts soothe every part of me. "Jesus To A Child," feels like grace. I believe the only song that expresses a person's smile is child like to Christ. It's setting an imprint of love, what it once was and what it can be after death. It's personal, magical and majestfully told. In every beat and mellow harmony only his voice, now that he has also passed away, you can feel every earnest of expression just in tone. It glorifies me to know someone knows how to bring you back to to a human psyche.

I don't want to fail myself no longer. If I could manage grace could I bring it to others? Could my words break you down, make you cry or willfully create a strive? I feel to personal, too realistic to tell anyone what to do not even for myself. If I had grace to share to the world as I described, then it would be happening. I hope to find what's truly stopping that flow.


	21. [ Self ] Expression !?

What I felt strongly. The upset.  
The upset of others that can't help but be involved but can't castrate an idea.  
Let me tell you something.

My writing is personal, it's my expression. Fantasy like, realistic, factual and fictional. There is a strong misleading view to many of us, like me, or mutuals I know that people see we are self-depreciating ourselves. Or the people in real life I know but this focuses to self-expression online. In which professionals would tell anyone, it's okay. Let me educate you real quick and I'll let it go.

People have this idea, self-deprecation is a plea for help, fishing for compliments, or just general attention-getting. No, it's the fact you fail to understand that as a person who self-deprecates get off on it's own enunciation, in fact we don't care about your responses. We care very little for your responses. If anything responses are a turn off.


	22. I

People seem to enjoy to insinuate my psychoanalysis when I speak. I am not a woman of charm but a person, a personality that I don't seem to have.

I am not becoming, but I am.   
I am not trying to become desensitized, it's the fact that I am already there.  
Been there.

These people, who felt the somber genuine parts than a judgment which is why I am never eager to speak to but understanding to speak to. I wonder what part of me did I show to easily, besides a rant or cases of panic disorders of my misleading and deteriorating life, that let people push me away so easily. I am learning, even in therapy, to challenge others as I speak. I am not a human, begging or asking. I am not a human wilting or crying. I am not a human who has really any sheer of confidence inside her.

I don't create and four stories in I am reflecting. I've only had the time in isolating away is reflecting. Oh, the pity want to worry and want to find me. I don's bump heads nor cross paths with the ones I probably maliciously could do wrong. A bitter part of the others a kindle and condescending perception.

I am no one.   
I don't belong to anyone.  
I live a life freely but it is blessed.  
Perhaps, blessed than the ones who can't believe I have all this pain and speak of presence sounding in gentle waves against their ears.  
I no longer wish to speak to anyone but I wish to speak to the future softy. So if someone want to psychoanalyze my strength, I'm too solid, cold and mistakingly unhappy.

I can't bring you a change from your mental toxicity.   
I could embrace it, but I don't want my life to continue in the same pattern as yours.  
I know, we seemed like we were in the same boat but that's certainly isn't true.  
I spoke, I was one-sided and I continue to create and surface stress only to me.

I am not a charm nor a gift to no one.   
I am empty and lost with human morality these days.  
I'm wondering, across from psychiatry is she going to tell me to to stop talking because I really do sound scary.  
At-least this is a place, where I can be honest.   
Humans don't accept honesty because ten it's not possible to judge the ones who are babysitting their minds with unrealistic things.

I have learned from everyone they sound unrealistic, they don't see pain, they see ease, they don't see hardship they just see breezy paths in the midst of their dysfunction.   
If I am honest, about my dysfunction, I am the one you can judge.   
You cannot judge the one who isn't denial about themselves.   
I am not in denial about myself or my endings.   
So while you analyze my pose and demeanor and my calmness.  
I'm human. I'm rotting for humans and rooting for humans.  
I see beauty to humans who don't see it in me.

Not every day I have something to say in a fantasy-like tone. For people to dream because reality scares you.  
I enjoying scaring everyone with my truths because I am truth.


	23. Never

You never been on my side  
Yet have the excuses  
Of why you can't  
Why you shouldn't  
Compile the thought of understanding

You have never been honest  
Or felt the shame  
Of anxieties being place  
Hear the nervous laugh  
Of a professional  
Since they don't even know what to say  
For speech has become limited

So, am I that scary? 

I accepted I'm here because I have something say  
I have heard the soft cries that I have to   
I have to  
I have to  
I have to  
I have to

With every swallow  
There's a place to rest  
To care  
And breathe

With every sun   
There's the part of my mind that can't feel  
My soul is exhausted  
The body is twisted   
The brain is twisted  
The girl is twisted

You never had to sit in my area  
Nor my mind  
But expect from one thing to have a said purpose  
As yours is set while mine is drifting

I am, nor have I ever  
Never  
Been someone or a thing  
Nor a belief or a set of identity   
It feel so much more lifeless now  
Trust me

You never been here  
You know **of** me  
You know nothing **about** me   
I am fine to keep it in this bracket  
Locked into the fine soles and dark passive ways


	24. Escape

I thought this was my place  
Yet I can't make a sound  
What happen to my life  
Why has it turned upside down  
I have to sit in offices weekly  
Trying to not to lose my mind  
They want me to have hope  
But my neck is so tight from this rope

What happen to my writing as my personal place  
So I can say what I need to  
Not trying to drown myself in hate  
I can't live for no one especially not you

And relatively I'm speaking to myself  
I feel so out of body  
I can't beg for help  
Since the pain is chronic  
I have no room to breathe I wish to escape but can't have the strength  
To end me  


So what happens one more time when I can break it down  
Cry myself alone at night and with the tears I drown  
I know when the end game comes I won't be able to fight  
Kindly asking for these changes to work  
Because it's only darkness and I can't see the light


End file.
